


Divination's Greatest Flaw

by rae1112



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pottertalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae1112/pseuds/rae1112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland, master of Divination, fancied himself a prophetic matchmaker. His best friends would agree...if only he could make a prophetic match for himself. </p>
<p>Pottertalia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I have this story near completion. I know it's hard to trust me, I'm a heartbreaker, but give me your hearts one moretime!!
> 
> Anyway...just as a quick reference for who's who, because I'm going to be using last names most of the time:
> 
> Xiau Mei: Vietnam  
> Emma Dubois: Belgium  
> Juan Machado: Cuba  
> Katyusha Arlovskaya: Ukraine (she can't be Russia's sister in this otherwise it won't make sense...I just gave her Belarus' last name lol)  
> Jett Kirkland: Australia
> 
> Thanks y'all for your continued support of my writing :)

Francis reckoned the whole mess started in third year, when Arthur Kirkland first revealed himself to be something of a prophetic matchmaker.

Arthur had always been a romantic, despite how seriously he was teased about it by his four older brothers. It was only in Arthur’s third year, when all of his brothers had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—and had gone on to do impressive adult things that Arthur didn’t care much about— that Arthur was free to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes: matchmaking.

It was a fun hobby. Arthur had always had an affinity for Divination that rivaled even their Professor (which, he knew, was a perfectly arrogant thing to think about oneself… though that didn’t quite prevent it from being true), and he used his gift in part to figure out who his two best friends, Ivan Braginski and Francis Bonnefoy, should fall in love with. His friends in no way requested this of him—in fact, both Ivan and Francis had been rather annoyed at Arthur’s constant meddling in their love lives.

“Arthur, if you touch my hand one more time for this palmistry rubbish, I’m going to hex you,” Francis had snarled one memorable afternoon when Arthur had once again interrupted his intense study session to cross-reference the life line on his palm, “I’ve learnt one that could permanently scar your face!” Ivan had snickered at Francis’ threat, and Arthur had backed off for the time being. 

Still, Francis’ lack of enthusiasm did not diminish Arthur’s, who quickly moved on to Ivan, begging him to allow Arthur to read his love fortune. To both Francis’ and Arthur’s surprise, Ivan had blushed a deep red, hidden half his face in his scarf, and stuck out his hand in Arthur’s face.

Touched by Ivan’s willingness to be his guinea pig, Arthur worked tirelessly (occasionally neglecting schoolwork, much to Francis’ horror) to understand Ivan’s love fortune and destiny. Reading his palm had only been the beginning—it served as a baseline for Arthur’s mission, and it revealed that Ivan, like Arthur, was a romantic who would commit to long-term and love-filled relationships only (which, to Ivan’s horror, Arthur decided to share with the entire Slytherin common room—Romano Vargas wouldn’t stop laughing until Francis hexed him). After discovering this, Arthur began to—and there was no other term for it-- _stalk_ Ivan, not only in the classes they shared but in the classes they didn’t, even setting the Kirkland House-Elf on him when Ivan started avoiding Arthur out of sheer annoyance. 

Still, no one could say Arthur wasn’t dedicated. Through his thorough investigation of Ivan’s routine and schedule, he identified people who were compatible with Ivan, and with whom Ivan had several things in common. After a few tests of these people’s character and moral fiber (tests which he did not discuss with either Francis, who was a rather strict prefect, or Ivan, who tended to think Arthur was heavy-handed about testing people…), Arthur determined that the man destined to make Ivan happy was Yao Wang, an Anglo-Chinese student in Ravenclaw who had never in his life interacted with Ivan. 

And yet, miraculously, when Arthur introduced Ivan and Yao, they hit it off immediately. Ivan quickly became infatuated with Yao. And though the Chinese student was not as obvious with his affections, it was clear that he too was becoming rapidly fond of his new Russian friend. 

“A total fluke!” Francis exclaimed when Arthur gloated for the thousandth time, “It had nothing to do with you or your bloody Divination, rosibif, it was merely an instance of luck!”

Arthur, of course, took this as a personal challenge. As Francis still wouldn’t allow Arthur near his palms, he set his sights on Romano Vargas, arguably the most unpleasant Slytherin in their year. Even Ivan, though he tried to be encouraging of Arthur’s fanciful pursuits most of the time, looked doubtful when Arthur announced his newest target. Francis had outright snorted.

Still, two months later, both Francis and Ivan stared slack-jawed at Romano, who was wrapped around Gilbert Beilschmidt like a python around its prey, his tongue stuck completely down Beilschmidt’s throat. It was a rather disgusting display, and yet, Arthur still looked rather pleased. 

“What were you lot saying before? Not so quick to doubt me now, eh?”

It was probably Arthur’s lack of modesty and nasty tendency to boast that landed him in the thick of it. After Romano and Beilschmidt, he managed to pair up Elizaveta Hedervary and Roderich Edelstein, Tino Väinämöinen and Berwald Oxensteirna, and even Francis and Antonio Carriedo, much to Francis’ embarrassment.

“…All right, Arthur, perhaps you have a knack for this…” Francis admitted, while Antonio stared admiringly at him. Arthur beamed. 

“That’s all the boys in our year!” Arthur said, proudly. It was true. All of the Slytherin boys in their year—Ivan, Tino, Roderich, Romano and now Francis—were paired off thanks to Arthur’s interference.

“You should make a business out of this, Arthur!” Antonio exclaimed, wrapping his arms tighter around Francis.

And that was where the trouble began.

\--------------

“What do you think, Jones? D’you reckon someone who was born when Mars was out of position could get along with someone born under Jupiter’s largest moon? I’ve personally never heard of a long-term relationship which lasted under those conditions, but if anyone can defy the star’s destiny for them, it should be Vargas and Beilschmidt…”

Alfred Jones didn’t reply, and when Arthur turned to look at him, he found he could not see him, as Jones’ cauldron had just let off an enormous amount of steam that obscured his face from view. Arthur frowned.

“It shouldn’t be steaming that much, especially not this early on. Did you add enough gillywater?” 

“I—didn’t—think—I—had—to—add—gillywater—until—later— _Kirkland_ — “ Jones hissed, clearly annoyed. Arthur gulped sheepishly. Had he forgotten to revise Jones’ instructions _again_?

“Erm, sorry about that, you were supposed to add it…well, never mind, let’s start again, you weren’t that far in, anyway…” he cleared away Jones’ concoction with a wave of his wand. Jones rolled his eyes, but did not protest.

“Start with the roots again…remember to slice them evenly…” he watched as Jones once again reached for his silver knife and painstakingly cut his limited supply of Wormwood root. “That’s right...”

Arthur felt quite guilty as he watched Alfred Jones, guilty enough to put away his latest pet project: the relationship (or lack thereof) of Ludwig and Feliciano. He was in sixth year now, quite a bit older than when he was matchmaking friends for fun. Gone were the days when he provided his services for free. No, now in order to find true love with the helping hand of Arthur Kirkland, students had to be prepared to hand over all manners of treasures and baubles.

Or, at the very least, ten Galleons.

Still, Francis was right; Arthur had to be careful not to let his little business consume his life. It wasn’t exactly a stable career plan. 

Additionally, this year he’d promised Professor Slughorn that he would act as a tutor to fifth years who were struggling with potions, so that they too would pass their O.W.L.’s with ‘Outstanding’ marks. It was why he was here, with Alfred Jones, watching him fail to brew a simple Hiccuping Solution for the fifth time this week.

It couldn’t be Jones’ fault he was so terrible at potions. In actuality, loathe as Arthur was to admit this of a Gryffindor, Jones was rather brilliant. He was exceptional at both Transfiguration and Charms, sharp in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and apparently some sort of prodigy in Arithmancy, long considered one of Hogwarts’ most complicated subjects. Still, when it came to Potions, the only class Arthur shared with him, Jones was absolute rubbish. He could transform kittens into scissors at the drop of a hat, yet he couldn’t brew antidotes to the simplest of poisons. Arthur wondered if it was because Jones was a transfer student—the Salem Institute for Witches and Wizards in the US was supposed to have a reputation comparable to Hogwarts, but perhaps their potion classes were a bit lacking…

“Okay, Kirkland, I cut up the root,” Jones said, showing Arthur his handiwork. “I think I went wrong right after this part last time.”

Arthur grinned, “You went wrong after the very first step? Jones, I’m surprised at you!”

Jones fixed him a stare, though Arthur could tell he was trying not to smile, “Ha ha. Now what?”

“Add it with the gillywater, and let it stew for a bit,” Arthur said, and watched as Jones followed his instructions. He was glad that the potion would now require a bit of time to stew, because he wanted to talk more about his project with Jones. N-not that he particularly cared about his thoughts…it was just always good to have a second opinion… 

“Right, now let it stew, it should steam very little after you’ve added the water,” Arthur said as Alfred poured the last of the water in the cauldron. He smiled triumphantly.

“It looks better already!” Alfred said, patting the cauldron rather affectionately. Then, he turned to Arthur once more, looking dead into his eyes unblinkingly. “What were you asking me before? Something about Mars?” 

Arthur tried not to blink. It was a rather unnerving habit that Jones had, staring directly into someone’s eyes and making conversation. Most people took his eye-contact as a sign of respect, but Arthur thought it to be a bit too intense for his liking. “Er—basically I was asking you if you think Ludwig Beilschmidt and Feliciano Vargas would be a good pair,” he said eventually, blinking despite himself. Jones looked thoughtfully at him, though it only made his gaze more intense. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I don’t know Vargas that well—“

“But you know Ludwig!” Arthur exclaimed, sitting on the table right across from Jones’ seat. He planted his feet on either side of Jones’ chair, effectively trapping him. “C’mon, I know he’s your mate—“

“We don’t really talk about stuff like that,” Jones said. Arthur noticed he began shuffling around in his chair, rather uncomfortably. “We’re not like best friends. We mainly talk about Quidditch.” At this, Jones smirked again, ceasing to shuffle. “Talk about strategy. Need any pointers, Kirkland? I heard your team is a mess this year.”

Arthur, who did not like to be reminded that last year Jones had waltzed into Hogwarts, joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and promptly beat Slytherin with a margin of one-hundred points, merely huffed.  


“Well, I think you’ve got the Hiccuping Solution down rather nicely, don’t you?” Arthur said coolly, pretending not to notice Jones’ panicked expression, “I expect you’ll do rather well in tomorrow’s class. I’ll see you then, I think?”

______________

“What do _you_ think?” Arthur asked Francis and Ivan as they sat down for breakfast the next day. “Is it a bit of a stretch? Feliciano’s palm revealed to me that he values security and stability most of all in a lover, and there’s no doubt that Beilschmidt possesses both those qualities in spades…”

The Great Hall was decorated rather beautifully that morning, though Arthur appeared not to notice. The ceiling, charmed to look like the skies above, displayed a bright, sunny day with nary a cloud in sight. The pillars and floors were shining with a sparkling resilience, even more so than usual, perhaps because the Easter holidays were quickly approaching and Hogwarts always seemed to be at its best right before all the students left it. In any case, only Ivan still marveled at the beauty of the Hall even after six years of dining in it. He rather liked the brightness, after all. 

“…didn’t do your Charms homework at all!” Ivan was brought back to reality by Francis and Arthur’s sharp bickering. He did his best not to sigh in exasperation. “I saw you, Arthur, you didn’t come back up to the dormitory until one in the morning! I know for a fact your tutoring with Jones ended by ten, what were you doing all that time?!”

“For your information,” Arthur huffed, turning his attention to the various sausages displayed before him, “I didn’t finish with Jones until eleven. He was having a lot of problems with his potion, and I, erm…” he coughed slightly, “Well, I got rather angry with him at one point, threatened to leave, we had a bit of a row. By the time I came around to helping him again it was already ten thirty…”

Ivan and Francis, who were long used to Arthur picking fights, motioned for him to continue.

“After Jones, I went to do more research on Feliciano and Ludwig.” At this, Ivan gave into his desire to sigh in exasperation. Loudly. 

“Arthur, you cannot keep blowing off your actual work to pursue this fanciful hobby!!” Francis shrieked, making everyone in their general vicinity look over at them in alarm, “If you don’t pass your N.E.W.T.’s, you’ll never find a job! Do you want to be the shame of your family, rosibif?”

Ivan, though he looked like an escaped criminal—a large stature, a tattoo, and a hooked nose did that to a man—had the heart of a lamb, and it nearly broke at Arthur’s response to Francis’ words. A subtle shift in his body language indicated that the young Brit was rather hurt by Francis’ admonishment. Ivan threw a dirty look at Francis, then leaned across the table.

“Do not listen to him to him, comrade. He is still bitter he did not receive an O.W.L. in Divination,” Ivan said, ignoring Francis’ indignation. His tactic seemed to work, because Arthur tacitly looked up at him, pouting only slightly (which, for Arthur, was an accomplishment worthy of the Gods). 

Francis, perhaps sensing that he’d been a little mean to his friend, shuffled around restlessly. Taking care not to mention Arthur’s family again, he said “So? For all that unfinished Charms work, what did you find out about Vargas and Beilschmidt?” 

Apparently, Feliciano Vargas had finally gathered enough courage to approach Arthur with a predicament he’d been having since fourth year. He was tired of being dateless, as so many fifteen-year olds were, and seeing the success story Arthur had made his brother, Romano, Feliciano had wondered if Arthur could do the same for him. Arthur, with all the graciousness of a saint, made Feliciano pay top dollar for his help before he even considered his case (“What?! I can’t do this for free, you know! You blighters were just lucky you’re my friends!”). After Feliciano payed the hefty price of fifteen Galleons and a Sneakoscope (“My old one was rubbish” Arthur muttered somewhat shamefully at Ivan’s aghast expression), Arthur agreed to use his considerable people skills and magical talent to save Feliciano from a life of loneliness. And after a few weeks of thorough investigation, he’d narrowed down his query to one Ludwig Beilschmidt. 

In the middle of his story, Yao Wang had joined their party, wrapping his lean arms around Ivan’s shoulders and stroking his blonde hair gently. Though he’d initially intended to merely greet Ivan and leave, he found himself sucked into Arthur Kirkland’s ever evolving web of gossip. It happened to the best of them.

“Arthur? Are you even sure Beilschmidt is gay?” he asked after Arthur finished his lengthy explanation. He missed Francis and Ivan’s vigorous head-shaking.

Arthur launched into a long lecture about the “Kinsey-scale”, something he’d learned about in Muggle Studies, and thirty minutes later they were all late for Transfiguration. 

______________

 

During Arthur’s free period, he spotted the younger Beilschmidt and Jones studying intensely in the library, and he decided it was the perfect time to start wearing down Ludwig’s defenses. The Gryffindor didn’t know anything about Feliciano Vargas yet, but he would soon enough!

He slid in the seat beside Jones, under the pretense of pretense of potions, his perfect (and only) in with the Gryffindors. 

“Jones!” he exclaimed, and Jones dropped all the parchment he was holding, “I’m so glad I ran into you!”

“K-Kirkland?” Jones stuttered, eyes widening in something resembling panic. He quickly began all the parchment closer to his chest, “What’re you doing here?”

Deciding to ignore Jones’ odd behavior, Arthur clapped him on the shoulder heartily.

“I just wanted to check up on you, chap! All that work last night, did it pay off?” Arthur asked, attempting to be pleasant.

“I mean—I don’t—we haven’t had Potions yet, you should know that—“

“Ludwig!” Arthur interrupted, acting as if he’d just spotted the other boy, “I didn’t see you there! How are you doing?”

Ludwig and Jones looked equally bewildered at Arthur’s sudden friendliness. He tried his best to keep his smile natural looking, though he was aware the right side of his mouth was starting to twitch…

“I-I’m doing fine, thanks Kirkland…”

“So!” Arthur said, “I see you’re both studying hard, good, good, always good to see the young ‘uns taking their studies seriously.”

“I don’t know if ‘young ones’ is an accurate description for us, Kirkland, seeing as we’re only a year younger than you are…” Jones said, his usual combative smirk back on his face.

But Arthur refused to take the bait, keeping his attention focused on Ludwig. “I would have thought you’d be strategizing! Your next match is this weekend, you know. “

“Yes, against Hufflepuff,” Ludwig snorted pompously, “We’re not exactly dealing with prime strategists here.”

Arthur, who privately agreed with Ludwig’s assessment of this year’s Hufflepuff squad, shook his head rather urgently.

“Beilschmidt!” he cried, perhaps a bit more manically than he initially intended, and both Jones and Beilschmidt were looking at him like he was demented, “You should never underestimate your enemy, don’t you know that? Besides, they’ve got a new Seeker, I heard Vargas has skills beyond anything we’ve ever seen before!”

“Vargas? Feliciano?” Ludwig snorted again, “Are you joking? He’s on the squad because nobody else tried out, everyone knows that! He’s a wimp and a coward, one solid Bludger from Alfred and he’ll be cowering in the stands for the rest of the game.”

“And since when are you in the business of giving us advice, Kirkland?” said Jones suspiciously, “Very sporting of you, I must say.”

Cursing Jones’ suspicious nature, Arthur gave up his hasty plan. He’d have to appeal to Ludwig Beilschmidt some other way. “Fine, don’t take my advice; I was just trying to be courteous!” He huffed as he stood up as he took leave of his Gryffindor rivals.

“So…that’s him, then?” he heard Beilschmidt ask Jones as he walked away.

“That’s him,” Jones said, rather…fondly. Arthur wondered for a moment what on earth they were talking about, but he shook his head, clearing his mind of curiosity. He was on a mission, after all!

______________

 

Luckily, Feliciano Vargas was not as terrible at Quidditch as Ludwig made him out to be. He flew quite freely, making loops with his broom midair as if he’d been doing it all his life. 

“Remind me again why we’re helping a Hufflepuff in Quidditch?” asked Francis, holding his own rather expensive broomstick close to his chest, “Have you perhaps forgotten your House pride in the middle of all of this tomfoolery?”

“Relax,” Arthur replied, watching Feliciano make a rather extravagant loop around the Quidditch hoops, “Even if he ends up amazing after our training, their team is weak in comparison to ours. In comparison to Gryffindor’s, even…we just have to make sure he catches Beilschmidt’s attention.” 

Ivan, who was also clutching a broomstick (which was quite a bit shabbier than Francis and Arthur’s), beamed at Arthur’s answer. “We must always be willing to help the less fortunate, Francis, even at the expense of ourselves.”

“Oh shut up Ivan,” Francis said, “You just want Gryffindor to lose because you’re still angry at Jones for knocking you off your broom last year.”

Ivan did not reply, though his smile had turned slightly dangerous. Arthur gulped. It never ended well, when Francis and Ivan got into a spat…

“It helps that Feliciano is rather good at flying already,” he said, eager to ease the tension between his two friends, “he has good coordination too. We just need to make sure he can combine those skills. I want you both to act as Beaters—I think Beilschmidt was right, Feliciano is kind of…fragile, Bludgers might scare him.” It was especially important because Gryffindor had arguably the best Beaters of all the teams this year, including Slytherin—little Lilly Zwingli, a third year who looked like a cute pixie, had the arm strength of a troll, and was not afraid to show it. 

And perhaps even more dangerous than Zwingli was Alfred F. Jones himself. He seemed to have superhuman strength, in addition to agility and speed. He’d knocked a Bludger into Arthur’s face countless times, forcing the Brit to play with a bloody nose or a black eye for hours at a time. Thankfully, Arthur’s older brothers had done similar damage to him while they were growing, so he was quite accustomed to playing Quidditch with a broken body part. Still, that did not mean he enjoyed it. 

“Okay, Feliciano,” Arthur called, and Feliciano stopped circling the field, “We’re going to come up now. I have some golf balls, and Francis and Ivan are going to throw various objects at you. You’re going to dodge them while trying to catch the golf balls, alright?”

It was a disaster. Francis, who was one of Slytherin’s beaters, seemed to relish aiming heavy objects at Feliciano’s head. Every time they hit him, Feliciano had to stop in order to fight off a mental breakdown. Ivan attempted to calm him down, but seemed to only make things worse, as Feliciano was terrified of him and would fly away every time Ivan tried to approach.

The only silver lining Arthur could see was that Feliciano was rather good at catching the golf balls, no matter how far Arthur threw them. He was very quick. If he could get over his paralyzing fear of Bludgers, he’d probably be able to dodge them reasonably well. 

“Arthur!” Ivan yelled suddenly, catching Arthur mid-throw, “I think I hear someone!” 

Feliciano perked up, eyes widened in fear, and Arthur quickly dropped the golf ball. They stayed deathly silent, and soon enough, Arthur heard what Ivan was talking about—there were footsteps coming right for the Quidditch pitch. Arthur immediately gestured at his friends to land on the ground, but he had not needed to; Francis, Ivan and Feliciano were already landing by the time Arthur came to his senses. He finally landed as well, and all four boys ran as silently as they could behind one of the watch towers on the Quidditch pitch. It was after hours, and they did not have permission to be outside. If they were caught…

“I don’t believe it,” Francis whispered angrily. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and followed Francis’ gaze. Then he became angry as well. 

“Are you bloody joking--!”

The Gryffindor team was striding on to the pitch, adorned in their casual clothes, laughing and playing around. They were each equipped with a broomstick, and Ludwig was holding what looked to be practice balls. 

“I don’t _fucking_ believe it!” Francis repeated, nearly hitting Feliciano in his indignation, “They can’t possibly have permission to use the field this late at night!”

“We should go tell McGonagall,” Ivan said, looking uncharacteristically angry, “She’ll put them right.”

“What, and let her know we were out here ourselves?” Arthur said dully, and ignored the responding groans. He watched as Ludwig, Gryffindor’s captain, set down the balls and began gesturing to his team to line up. Jones, as he was lining up, was saying something to Zwingli, who started roaring in laughter. She grabbed Jones’ arm to steady herself. Arthur felt his bad mood getting worse. 

“They’re probably practicing this late so no one can spy on them,” Feliciano said shrewdly, and the three Slytherins turned to him in surprise. “They must be this secretive for a reason. Now we can see why.”

Arthur turned to face Francis, who was now wearing a conspiratorial grin. 

“Mon cher,” he said, addressing Feliciano, “I did not take you for such a sneak!”

“Or for caring that much about Quidditch,” added Arthur, who was under the impression that Feliciano only joined the team at Arthur’s behest, a part of his plot to set him up with Ludwig. 

“Hufflepuffs have House pride too,” Feliciano replied with a wink, then trained his eyes on the field. Arthur followed suit. The Gryffindors had taken flight.

They were rather good this year. Ludwig’s skills as a keeper were greatly improving with every training session. Zwingli and Jones were at the top of their game, as usual. The team seemed to be focusing on training their Chasers, Jett Kirkland (a distant cousin of Arthur’s—so distant that two hadn’t spoken even after Jett was transferred to Hogwarts…oops…), Xiau Mei, and a fourth year girl Arthur didn’t recognize. 

“That’s a friend of Antonio’s” Francis said, gesturing to the girl, “She’s from Belgium, her name is Emma something. Antonio said she trained in the summer with Beuxbaton’s Quidditch teams…”

“She’s not very good then,” Arthur said curtly, making his distaste for anything French plain. Francis shot him a very dirty look, as if he knew what he was thinking. 

Of course, Arthur was very incorrect, as not only Emma, but the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team proved highly capable in their training session. Arthur watched hopelessly as each Chaser handled the Quaffle with well-practiced ease. He was rather distracted, however, by the furious whispering beside him. He turned to glare at Francis and Ivan, but they paid him no mind.

“—don’t see what I can do!” Francis was spluttering, “It’s not as if we have permission…”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME FRANCIS?!” Ivan roared, much to Arthur’s alarm, “ARE YOU A PREFECT OR NOT?!” 

Thankfully, the Gryffindors were too high up to hear Ivan’s yelling. Francis, however, had heard him loud and clear. With a nod, he flung himself out from their hiding place, and marched towards the middle of the field.

“What are all of you doing out of bed?!” he bellowed, and Ludwig dropped the Quaffle in alarm, “I was sent by Professor Longbottom to investigate the noise! Are you all aware that it’s after hours?! Get down from there, all of you, this means detention! YES YOU TOO JONES, JUST BE GLAD I WON’T MAKE IT FOR THIS FRIDAY!” 

______________

 

That Friday came rather quickly—a little too quickly, for Arthur’s tastes. They had trained with Feliciano as often as they could, both after hours and during free afternoons. He seemed to be improving rapidly—he no longer flinched when Francis raised his arms—but he was nowhere good enough to best Gryffindor’s Seeker, Mathias Kohler. Kohler was a rather large seventh year, with wild hair and a wilder personality. Arthur knew only three things about him—he was from Denmark, he was obnoxiously loud, and he was unnaturally savage for a Seeker. Even if Feliciano managed to dodge all the Bludgers Zwingli and Jones sent his way, he would be no match for Kohler on a mission. 

“Don’t worry about me, Arthur,” Feliciano was saying in Charms, the last class before the match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He looked pale as a sheet, and slightly sick. “I might not win, but I’m getting better! And, I’m actually really starting to enjoy it. Kiku said with more training, I’m going to have serious potential.”

Arthur smiled brightly at him, “That’s the spirit! Even if you don’t win, Ludwig is going to see you as a skilled competitor; it’ll be the first step to earning his respect! That’s how you have to approach men of his ilk, Feliciano. Respect is very important to a Gryffindor, don’t forget that.”

Feliciano gulped, taking his eyes away from the cushion he was supposed to be levitating, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Arthur…are you—are you _sure_ he’s right for me? He seems a little…scary, in all honesty, a bit of a brute…I saw him yelling at his brother in a corridor today, it was terrifying.”

Arthur, who knew Gilbert well enough to know that Ludwig probably had good reason to shout at him, merely shrugged. Then he looked at Feliciano in a rather scrutinizing manner.

“Are you doubting me, Feliciano? Are you doubting my magic, and my wisdom? You came to me for help, remember?” 

“I know…” Feliciano said, hastily, “But still, Ludwig?”

“Trust me Feliciano!” Arthur exclaimed, flailing his arms, wand still at hand. His cushion flew from his desk and hit Antonio Carriedo right in the face. “I know what I’m doing!”

_And I’ve already spent all your Galleons…_ he thought to himself, thinking longingly of the firewhiskey he and Ivan had stashed in their dormitory. 

______________

 

The match in the afternoon was surprisingly dramatic. Everyone had expected Gryffindor to win with minimal effort, and the school had turned up to watch more due to tradition than anything. Arthur, Francis, and Ivan sat with their fellow Slytherins, eager to cheer on the Hufflepuffs (especially Feliciano—Arthur had told him to fly near Ludwig at all times, so the German would notice him and his ‘great skill’. Feliciano had rolled his eyes but agreed to Arthur’s suggestion). They watched as both teams emerged from their respective sides, draped in either gold or scarlet robes. The two captains, Ludwig for Gryffindor’s side and Kiku Honda for Hufflepuffs, shook hands. 

“It’s looking to be a clear sky out here, people, no excuses for sloppiness today!” Arthur looked over their commentator, Elizaveta Hedervary, who looked as intense as usual regarding Quidditch. Everyone in the school agreed that if anyone would go pro when they graduated, it would be Elizaveta. Her dedication to the sport was unparalleled; when her team wasn’t playing, she was commentating. Always hands on, that girl…

“New line-up today for the Gryffindor side—team captain and Keeper, Beilschmidt, followed by Kohler for Seeker, Jones and Zwingli for Beater, and Chasers – Dubois, Xiao Mei, and Kirkland!  
(Here Arthur gave a mighty jolt—it felt wrong, somehow, to hear his surname on the Gryffindor team, no matter how distant the cousin.)

“New line-up for Hufflepuff as well! Remember kids, this is the first match of the season, as all of the rest were cancelled or otherwise delayed—“

It was a long story, though not a particularly surprising one. Hogwarts was a strange school after all. Due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’ (involving centaurs and a very angry Gamekeeper), they were fitting in all the matches during spring term. Not that Arthur minded—it meant a match every weekend, and he was in top form.

“—so I think we’re all a little curious to see what these newbies have up their sleeves! Alright, first up is Kiku Honda, coincidentally ALSO Keeper and team captain, followed _byyyyyyy_ Vargas for Seeker, Lukasewisz, Laurinaitis, and Carriedo for Chaser, aaaaand Arlovskaya and Machado for Beater!”

Katyusha Arlovskaya had a bit of trouble positioning her broom properly, and though Arthur was a gentleman by trade, he couldn’t help but appreciatively glance at her with the rest of the male population. 

“And they’re off!” Elizaveta shouted jubilantly. 

And so they were. At first, it went like everyone expected it to. Though Honda was a good Keeper, he was no match for Gryffindor’s trifecta of Chasers. Mei, Dubois (the French-Belgian girl Arthur soon wished he hadn’t dismissed so easily) and Jett (“Jett _Kirkland_!” Francis kept hissing, as if this was somehow Arthur’s fault) were running plays with ease. It seemed that despite Feliciano’s opportune spying, Honda had not been able to adequately train his own Chasers to retaliate.

It didn’t help that Hufflepuff’s Beaters were practically non-entities. Though they weren’t bad, both Katyusha and Juan were relatively new additions to the Hufflepuff team, and were no match for Zwingli and Jones. Every time Zwingli got her hands on the ball, she would incapacitate Honda for minutes at a time, allowing Gryffindor’s Chasers to score several goals while he tried to recover.

“OH, C’MON, FOUL!!” Arthur had roared on one particularly nasty occasion, when Zwingli had beat the ball dead center into Honda’s nose. She flew right by Arthur, undeterred. Jones, however, flew right after her and stopped above where Arthur and his friends were sitting.

“Alright, Kirkland?” he asked, with a cocky grin. Arthur glared up at him.

“You won’t be gloating when we play you, I promise!” he yelled. Jones looked like he was going to reply, but was interrupted by his team captain.

“ALFRED!! GET OUT OF THE STANDS AND GET INTO POSITION! _NOW!!_ ” Ludwig looked furious. Jones momentarily glanced back at Arthur, _winked_ , then flew back into the fray.

“What was that about?” Ivan asked, facing Arthur and raising an eyebrow, “I thought you two got along relatively well?”

“Not when it comes to Quidditch we don’t,” growled Arthur, not taking his eyes off Jones as he flew up to a Bludger and beat it right in the way of Carriedo. 

“Never mind that now!” Francis said suddenly, grasping at both Ivan and Arthur, “Look at Feliciano!”

Arthur finally took his eyes off of Jones, and gasped. Feliciano, who had remained rather stationary and out of harm’s way, was suddenly streaking through the field, looking like a yellow blur in the crowds.

“I don’t believe it!” Elizaveta was saying, her shrewd eyes following the Italian boy, “Has Vargas seen the snitch?”

Kohler seemed to think so. With a curse he tore after Feliciano, grasping his broom so tightly that his knuckles turned bone white. He followed Feliciano through his absurd loops, desperately looking for the snitch. 

Arthur, who also had a Seeker’s eye, scrunched up his eyes. 

“I don’t see anything…” he muttered, watching Kohler’s desperate attempts to catch up to Feliciano, “I don’t see the snitch anywhere near them.”

Still, the chase was thrilling. Feliciano flew through the stands, a hair’s width away from the teacher’s podium (only Professor Longbottom seemed to appreciate that bit of skill), then dived behind the field, circling back up and past where the Hufflepuff Chasers were watching in awe. Jones aimed and hit a Bludger viciously right at Feliciano but, to Arthur’s shock and delight, Feliciano flipped around on his broom and managed to dodge it. It almost hit Kohler instead.

“JONES! WATCH WHAT YOU’RE FUCKING DOING!!” Kohler roared as he flew past his teammates. Jones looked angry, but Arthur was beside himself with glee. He and Ivan clasped hands like giddy children, resisting the urge to get up and dance. Even Francis didn’t have the heart to admonish them. 

Meanwhile, Feliciano had gone into a dive, flying with serious intent towards the ground. Kohler followed without hesitation.

“They’re gaining speed!” Elizaveta was now out of her chair and leaning out of her podium in excitement, “They’re both heading down quickly, Vargas is reaching for something—“

“It’s a Feint!!” Arthur suddenly shouted, distracting those around him, “the snitch isn’t there, he’s feinting!!”

Jones seemed to realize the same thing. “It’s a trap, Mathias!!” he yelled, flying closer to the Seekers, “The snitch isn’t there, stop!!”

However, Jones’ warning came too late. Feliciano suddenly pulled out of his dive while Kohler, expecting to catch the snitch, did not. He crashed into the ground with great speed, flying off his broomstick. While it miraculously stayed in one piece, Kohler looked to have broken something; he curled up in a ball and clutched at his nose, which was now bleeding profusely. A time out was called while Madam Pomfrey and several teachers ran to Kohler’s aid.

“Damn, Feliciano…” muttered Ivan, sounding half awed, half afraid.

Arthur, meanwhile, was looking at looking at Ludwig. Who was staring at Feliciano.

And he looked _murderous_.

“Damn, Feliciano,” Arthur repeated, for an entirely different reason. 

______________

 

In the end, Gryffindor still won the match, albeit only by ten points. When Kohler could not return to play, Feliciano was given free range of the field. Despite how many Bludgers Zwingli and Jones beat at him, he managed to find and catch the golden snitch. It wasn’t enough to win, mind you, but it was enough to be impressive. However, Arthur quickly discovered it was impressive to all the wrong people. 

“How did this happen?!” Arthur asked, watching as a group of Gryffindors hissed at two passing Hufflepuff second years, Ludwig among them. The Hufflepuffs, instead of meekly backing down like they usually did, stared pridefully at the Gryffindors and marched right past them. “This is not what I intended!”

“I feel rather cheated, I must say,” Francis said lazily, levitating a loaf of bread someone had left behind, “I thought we were the only sworn enemies of Gryffindor?”

“I guess we’ll have to find new house rivals,” Ivan said, looking quite bemused. He leaned across the table, where Yao Wang sat with them, attempting to study his Ancient Runes. “What do you think, Yao? Would Ravenclaw want to become Slytherin’s new rival?”

“Hm. You wish.” Yao said coolly. He did however grasp Ivan’s hand, and gently began to stroke it with his thumb. Ivan smiled brightly, and Arthur suddenly felt a pang of loneliness.

Francis seemed to be of the same mind. “I can’t watch you lot anymore,” he announced, getting up and gathering his books, “I’m going to find Antonio. We have ‘prefect duties’, if you know what I mean!” he winked lewdly, and Arthur threw the loaf of bread at his face. 

______________

 

It was now a few days after ‘the incident’, as the Gryffindors were calling it. Kohler had gotten out of the hospital wing and was shouting at anyone who would listen that Feliciano clearly Confounded him, and that there was no way he’d fall for a Feint under normal circumstances.

Arthur was with Jones in the Dungeons, having narrowly escaped a manic Kohler, who was desperately trying to prove even to the Slytherins that he had been tricked. Arthur, feeling partially responsible for Feliciano’s sudden brilliance in Quidditch, made his excuses quickly. Now he was sitting with Jones, going over the last potion he’d failed to make in class, and trying very hard not to gloat about Gryffindor’s costly victory. 

“You’re doing much better now” he told Jones as the younger boy cut up some fresh beetles for his concoction, “With cuts like that, you might even receive a D on your O.W.L’s!”

Jones scowled at him, “D is the lowest mark already.”

“That’s not true!” Arthur replied brightly, “You could get a Troll!”

Jones looked at him oddly, as if he wasn’t sure if Arthur was kidding. Then he rolled his eyes and continued cutting up his beetle. In reality, he really _was_ doing better—much better than in class, anyway, where he’d cut up the beetle so badly that Slughorn hadn’t even been able to recognize what ingredient it used to be. 

Figuring that Jones would be alright for the moment, Arthur decided to work on his own homework while he waited—all of his business with Feliciano and Ludwig had taken more precious time from him, and now he was dangerously close to his deadline in Muggle Studies. He took out his textbook and notes from class and proceeded to read the assigned chapter.

Jones looked up briefly from his cutting to see what his tutor was doing, then he looked back down. Then he did a double take, eyes wide, staring intently at Arthur’s textbook. 

“…Is that a Muggle Studies book, Kirkland?” 

Arthur looked up from his chapter, “…Yes…is that a problem?”

Jones still looked bewildered, “Not a problem, it’s just…I didn’t think Slytherins had any interest in the subject.”

“Well that’s rather prejudiced of you,” Arthur replied haughtily, “I happen to like Muggle Studies. It’s my favorite subject, after Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.” 

Still, Jones continued to stare at him, as if he’d never seen him before. Arthur’s frown deepened.

“Do you have a problem with Muggles or something, Jones? Because if you do—“

“Of course I don’t,” Jones interrupted, in a rather odd voice, “I’m Muggleborn myself.” 

At this, Arthur’s jaw dropped. “W-what? But you’ve never said—“

“I’ve never really needed to,” Jones replied, shrugging. “It wasn’t really a big deal in Salem. Most witches and wizards are halfblood or muggleborn there, anyway. All this pureblood stuff is very old-world—I asked Professor Binns about it. Apparently, not many pureblood wizards had an interest in uprooting themselves from their ancestral homeland.”

Arthur nodded, fascinated. He couldn’t believe he never heard any of this about the Salem Institute. In fact, he had a rather limited knowledge of the wizarding schools outside of Europe. It looked like this was something he’d have to look further into…

“What are you doing, anyway? What’s your homework about?” Jones asked him, breaking their momentary silence, “I could probably help you more than that ratty old book. It looks like it’s from the sixteen-hundreds.”

“Don’t be silly, our class is focused on Modern Muggle interaction,” Arthur said, though he put his book down. It would perhaps be useful to get a Muggleborn’s perspective on his essay…

“We’re supposed to write a report on how Muggles function in daily life. We aren’t allowed to focus on the obvious ones, like transportation, because most of us know how to drive a car or ride the train, unless you’re completely secluded. We’re supposed to research a part of Muggle life and culture that we as wizards don’t really understand.”

Jones smiled widely almost immediately. Arthur did not like it. “Why don’t you do yours on the invention of the modern pen?” he picked up Arthur’s quill and twirled it around, “It’s a handy invention, I promise you!”

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur said, snatching his quill back from the Gryffindor. 

Jones laughed and leaned into Arthur’s side as he did so. Arthur found himself flushing red at Jones’ proximity. 

“H-how about…” Jones finally said, after he was done laughing, “How about something like the internet?”

“Well, I mean, most of us actually have access to it,” Arthur said thoughtfully, “it’s caught on in most circles…”

“Yeah, but you guys don’t use it the same way we do, and you certainly don’t use it as much!” Jones protested, “I talked to Ludwig about memes the other day, and he looked at me like I was insane!”

Arthur, who had no intention of telling Jones that he also did not know what a meme was, nodded sagely.

“It’s kind of driving me crazy, honestly,” Jones continued, now looking at Arthur rather oddly, “The fact that Hogwarts doesn’t have wi-fi for instance is insane. And none of my electronics work here—what’s the point of my data plan?”

“Jones, your beetle is running away,” Arthur said, noticing that some of Jones’ ingredients were walking off his cutting board. Jones cursed and began chasing after them, all conversations of Muggle Studies forgotten. 

______________

 

“Did you hear about Slughorn’s party?” Francis asked the next day while the three of them sat around in Transfiguration, trying to charm a needle into a snake. It was rather complicated, as the needle would need to grow larger _and_ change shape, combining two principles they’d studied hard in Transfiguration, but had not previously combined. Arthur thought he was doing rather well—his needle had become a bit serpent-like, albeit still very small. Ivan’s had become bigger and wiggly, but did not yet have the appearance of a snake. Francis had not even attempted to transfigure his—he was too busy gossiping about the first party Hogwarts was going to have in ages. 

“I heard about it,” Arthur grumbled, trying again with his snake. It somehow managed to shrink further. “I can’t believe Slughorn is still going to throw one, honestly. He’s pushing one hundred by now, isn’t he? Little old to be hosting parties for teenagers.”

“Don’t you discourage him, Arthur Kirkland!” Francis demanded, “He is the only one providing for our very serious need of inter-house partying! It is a great service he is doing us, we must be grateful!”

“Who are you going to go with, Arthur?” Ivan asked thoughtfully, waving his wand at his needle again. All three of them were in Slughorn’s ‘Slug Club’, which meant that all three were invited by default. They’d be able to bring along one guest as usual. Yao, though he was in the Slug Club as well, would be accompanying Ivan, while Francis would take Antonio. That left Arthur alone, a common situation as of late.

Arthur puffed up his cheeks, rather cutely, though Francis and Ivan would rather die before admitting that to him.

“I dunno. I obviously haven’t thought about it yet,” Arthur said, jabbing his wand at the needle, “I’ve just heard about it haven’t I? Although…”

He stopped trying to charm his needle and furrowed his formidable eyebrows in thought. Ludwig was in the Slug Club. He tended to attend all the events, because he liked to stay well-connected, and Slughorn was essential for that. He usually went alone to functions, and if he didn’t, he brought Jones along, just as a mate. If Feliciano was there, and Arthur managed to get him and Ludwig to talk without threatening to kill each other for five minutes…

“I think I’ll bring Feliciano!” he said finally, mind made up. To his surprise, both of his friends looked very upset at his proclamation.

“Jesus, has someone died, what’s wrong with you two?” he asked, not understanding their reactions.

“You can’t take Feliciano!” Francis said in a near disgusted tone, “You don’t even like him!”

“Uh, it’s not exactly for my benefit, Francis…”

“You shouldn’t take someone to a party for someone else, Arthur,” Ivan interrupted, clearly trying to sound wise, but sounding kind of confusing instead. 

“Listen, I’m not taking him as a wife or anything, Christ, I’m just—“

“We thought you were going to take Jones!” Francis suddenly exclaimed, then instantly clamped his hands over his mouth. Ivan glared at him, nearly hissing. Arthur, meanwhile, completely froze, though his wand was now emitting sparks that were causing his serpent to grow at an alarming rate.

“I don’t—I mean—I—Jones?” Arthur said flustered, attempting to stop his now three-foot snake from growing any further, “Where…did you get… _preposterous_ \--” 

“We just thought,” Ivan began hastily, “We just thought you guys were getting along really well, you know? Last night you were with him until two in the morning. I heard him walking you back to our common room, you were both…laughing…”

Arthur said nothing. It was true, Jones and him stayed together in the Dungeon long after they were permitted, just talking about…things. Now that Arthur thought about it, the two of them did this every time Arthur tutored Jones. Last night just happened to be the longest they’d stayed out. Arthur had shared his plans about Feliciano and Ludwig, and had even confided in Jones, telling him that it was him, Ivan, and Francis who had trained Feliciano before the ‘incident’. Though Jones had not initially been happy at that story, he got into a better mood when he described Ludwig’s temper tantrum after the match. The two of them laughed for a long time, imagining any future fights Ludwig and Feliciano may have (for _finally_ , Jones agreed that the two of them probably belonged together, if Arthur was so damn sure of it). The entire time, Arthur noticed that Jones was closer, _physically_ closer to Arthur than he’d been before, leaning into his side, touching his shoulder, his hair, and in one embarrassing instance, his _thighs_ (that had been an accident—Jones slipped on a beetle and grabbed onto Arthur’s thighs for support, but _still_ ). Arthur hadn’t known how he felt about it, exactly, though he’d found himself leaning into Jones’ touch despite himself. 

But how could Ivan and Francis _possibly_ know about that?!

“Listen,” he said, taking care to lower his voice, as their professor was coming around to their table, “Feliciano paid good money, and a good Sneakoscope, to get me to help him. And I will bloody help him, alright? You said it yourself, Francis—there are hardly any inter-house parties anymore. This might be my only chance to get them in the right kind of setting!” 

Francis was shaking his head in something akin to disbelief. Ivan did not reply until their professor passed by their table completely. Then he leaned across their desk to where Arthur and his snake sat, and whispered, “I will take Feliciano to the party. No, Arthur, listen! Yao’s already in the Slug Club, he doesn’t need me to get him in. It’ll be better that way anyway, so no one is confused about my intentions—everyone will know we’re just friends. It’s good for Ludwig and Feliciano too.”

“Then you are just forcing me to go alone then,” Arthur hissed, wrapping his now normal-sized snake around his wrist, “because despite what you two seem to think, I am not going to ask Alfred Jones to a bloody party!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author finally wrangles her laptop out of her parents' hands and finishes her story.

As flustered as Arthur was at Francis and Ivan’s ridiculous speculation, he did not have very much time to contemplate it, as several factors in his life started going wrong all at once. 

First was his discovery that he was very close to failing his Charms classes, much to Professor Flitwick’s disappointment. The few miniscule assignments he blew off earlier in the term turned out to be the foundation of the entire Charms curriculum for that year, and Arthur found that he could not complete any of the new spells that were being thrown his way. Both Francis and Ivan lectured him on the theory of charmwork for _hours_ , and Flitwick assigned him extra work just so he’d be able to catch up. It was a rather humiliating episode in his academic career, made worse by his parents and brothers, who sent a howler _each_ to Arthur every morning for the week. And Arthur had a lot of brothers. 

When he wasn’t being ridiculed for his ailing grades, he was being screamed at by the Slytherin Quidditch captain, who accused him of being lazy in his training and unfocused when on the pitch. The whole situation was exacerbated by the fact that the Slytherin Quidditch captain this term was Francis. 

“I’ll kick you off the team, Kirkland, don’t think I won’t!” Francis shouted over and over as Arthur searched for the snitch in the pouring rain one afternoon. Well, it was nice to know that in the list of Francis’ priorities, Arthur’s friendship was below winning a Quidditch match and catching a golf ball. 

And as if Francis wasn’t enough, Jones was becoming unbearable about Quidditch every time Arthur saw him. 

“Heard Bonnefoy replaced your old captain because of injury,” Jones was saying one memorable night when Arthur was attempting to show him the Draught of Living Death, “Makes our chances even better, wouldn’t you agree? But it’s okay, right Kirkland? Surely Slytherin’s used to being second-best by now!” Arthur was sorely tempted to force feed the potion down Jones’ throat. Still, he restrained himself, and merely added a newt eye to the concoction when Jones wasn’t looking, then pretended to be surprised when the whole thing turned bright pink and began to smell of slugs. 

And on top of everything else, Arthur found himself having trouble with Feliciano as well. 

“He hates me!” Feliciano exclaimed in Charms one day, while Arthur failed to perform the assigned spell, “And to be honest Arthur, I’m not a huge fan of him either! Did you see him in the Great Hall today? He ate like three sausages in one swallow, it was really disgusting to watch!”

“Don’t be shallow, Feliciano,” Arthur said, though he too had watched Ludwig eat with disgust, “he’s loyal and he’s strong, all qualities you value. And he’s extremely fit.”

“I think he’s a bit more your type than mine, Arthur,” Feliciano said with a bit of a glint in his eye, “Muscle-bound and tall, and blonde?”

Despite himself, Arthur’s thoughts turned to Jones, and he physically shook his head to banish them. “That is not my type!” he protested, and Feliciano pretended not to notice he was turning red, “In no way is that my type! I don’t even—I prefer—look, it doesn’t even matter, alright? I PROMISE, once you get to know him, all of this will work itself out!”

“Alright, Arthur, I suppose I’ll just have to trust you,” Feliciano said, “You set my brother up with somebody, you must know what you’re doing.” Arthur sighed in relief. At the very least, that was one issue avoided. He spent the rest of class attempting to charm his toad to sing, and was mortified when Feliciano completed the assignment better than he did. 

\-------------

“And finally, Slytherin’s Seeker—KIRKLAND!” 

The Slytherin side of the stands erupted in cheers, with a particularly colorful chant being led by Romano Vargas. Arthur couldn’t pay attention to it however, because for the first time in years, he felt nervous as he walked onto the Quidditch pitch. 

Loathe as he was to admit it, Francis had been right about one thing—Arthur had been unfocused in training all term. He’d helped Feliciano become a better Seeker, but Arthur himself was spiraling. Slytherin had won their last game against Ravenclaw, but only by a very narrow margin, and Arthur had made several mistakes that nearly cost them the game. And now, they would be playing Gryffindor, who Jones insisted were playing better than ever. Even worse, Kohler was back to 100%, and Arthur seriously doubted he could pull off a Feint as spectacular as Feliciano’s. 

“Now, I want a clean match! Do you hear me?” Madame Hooch was saying, though Arthur barely paid her any attention. He lined up and mounted his broomstick, attempting to ignore his loudly beating heart. He was sure his teammates could hear it - it was like a bloody war drum. Jones was looking over at him every few seconds as well which was not helping at all. It was likely an intimidation tactic, and unfortunately, it was working. Arthur tried breathing deeper still. 

“Alright then!” Hooch concluded her speech and blew her whistle. Arthur kicked off the ground, ignoring the positions and shouting of the rest of his team. Almost immediately, he heard the familiar noise of a bludger being hit in his direction.

“Are you fucking kidding—“ he cursed, performing a rather fantastical loop to avoid being injured. He glared back at the other players, expecting to see Jones’ smug smirk. To his surprise, he saw Zwingli, looking determined and rather disappointed that she’d missed him. Even more surprising, however, was when he did find Jones, he was glaring daggers at Zwingli as well. Curious…

“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, FOCUS!” Francis yelled, flying by his teammate and knocking the bludger back at the Gryffindors, scattering all the Chasers. Arthur shook his head vigorously and flew higher, keeping an eye out for the snitch all the way. 

He and Kohler didn’t have much to do the first half of the game, as the snitch seemed to be intent on hiding out of sight. Instead, they watched what had to be the dirtiest Quidditch match in recent Hogwarts history.

“Foul! FOUL!” Hooch cried, watching as Francis hit Dubois in the nose with his bat, which he claimed was an accident. Dubois retaliated by smashing into him five minutes later, injuring his hand and nearly knocking him off of his broom—Arthur and Ivan had quickly flown to support him back onto the broom carefully, while Zwingli attempted to scatter them by aiming yet another bludger into their path.

Though, if Arthur was honest with himself, it didn’t seem like she aimed the bludger at them—it seemed like she aimed it at _Arthur_. He’d very narrowly avoided being hit. 

When yet another bludger was aimed his way only two minutes later, Arthur concluded that for whatever reason, Zwingli had it out for him. Everytime she got her hands on the ball, she aimed for Arthur, who could not look for the snitch while constantly dodging bludgers. Usually, it was in very bad form for a Beater to single out a player, though they were known to do it sometimes. Not Zwingli though—her determination to kill Arthur dead was rather unprecedented, and more than a bit uncomfortable. 

“Merde, you must call foul!!” Francis screeched at Hooch when Zwingli nearly hit Arthur for the seventh time that match. Hooch shrugged—technically, it wasn’t against the rules. Arthur heard Hedervary mention his name rather often in her commentary, though he couldn’t really pause and listen to her analysis of how soon he’d fall to his death. 

Francis, angry that Zwingli was attempting to assassinate Arthur and thereby ruin their chances at winning the match, began beating the bludger exclusively at Kohler in retaliation. This, of course, angered Beilschmidt, and seemingly the whole game lost any semblance of order. At one point, Xiau Mei dropped the Quaffle entirely and instead got into a midair fistfight with Edelstein, Slytherin’s Keeper, who’d pulled her hair rather nastily. Kohler caught the Quaffle and held onto it awkwardly, as there were no available chasers to pass it to. Arthur would have tried to get it from him, if he wasn’t attempting to escape yet another one of Zwingli’s bludgers. 

“That is it, TIME OUT!” Hooch’s voice pierced through the madness, causing all the players to freeze in relief, Arthur especially. He flew to the floor as quickly as he could and walked away from the players as soon as he touched ground, deciding to ignore the verbal thrashing Hooch was giving both his teammates and the opposing one. Thankfully, no one tried to throw him back into the fray. He was shivering due to nerves, and his skin was unhealthily pallid and clammy. When he looked at his hands, he realized they’d blistered from how hard he’d been gripping his broom.

He tried to pull himself together - Zwingli’s targeting had put him more on edge than he’d felt in years. Occasionally, wrapped up in House pride and magical wonder, Arthur forgot that there were very serious consequences for Quidditch players who couldn’t stay on their brooms. He took in a deep breath, trying to shake off his nervousness - nothing was more poisonous to a team than an insecure Seeker. 

By the time he turned around, Hooch was done yelling at the teams, and everyone was about to take off once more. Arthur noticed that, surprisingly, Gryffindor’s two Beaters looked to be in some sort of tiff, with Jones gesticulating wildly while Zwingli gave him a stern glare. The two then simultaneously turned to Arthur, as if they noticed he’d been watching them. 

But Arthur was done being intimidated. Ignoring their pointed stares, he mounted his broomstick and shot upwards when Hooch gave the go-ahead. He ignored the pain in his hands and gripped his broom’s handle even tighter. Zwingli had miscalculated the effect she’d have - Arthur was now determined to win.

Zwingli aimed for him again almost immediately but he avoided the bludger with ease - he was stubborn, and this was one of the rare occasions where it served him well. He got back into form, alongside Kohler, and began searching for the snitch once more. His position was purposeful - if Zwingli wanted to unnecessarily aim for him, she’d run the risk of hitting Kohler as well. 

His strategy seemed to work. That, and Madame Hooch’s warnings seemed to have gotten to the Slytherins at last. The Chasers were back out, Ivan in particular maneuvering around and scoring some well-needed points. Zwingli was forced to turn her attention to them, or risk having Slytherin score enough points not to even need the snitch. It left Arthur with some time to breathe, letting up his grip slightly and relaxing despite Kohler’s presence. Of course, the downside of being around Kohler was that one had to _be around Kohler_. 

“Heard you’re out of form, Kirkland,” Kohler shouted, unnecessarily in Arthur’s opinion, seeing as the two weren’t even six feet apart, “Caught only twenty out of thirty-five projectiles aimed at you last practice? Yikes. Haven’t made mistakes like that since I was a wee third year!” 

“Hang on,” Arthur said suspiciously, “You’ve been spying on me?”

Kohler’s grin immediately fell from his face, “Erm...well, no, I haven’t,” he replied uncomfortably. 

“Bollocks!” Arthur immediately protested, getting angry all over again. It seemed the Gryffindor team was really out to humiliate him this year.

“No, really, I haven’t been spying on you!” Kohler insisted. Arthur furrowed his rather formidable eyebrows. 

“Then how did you know about my performance last practice? Down to the exact numbers I missed?”

“Ah,” and suddenly Kohler looked uncomfortable, though he didn’t really need to be - spying, especially between Slytherins and Gryffindors, was a practice as old as Quidditch itself. Why was Kohler suddenly so shifty? “I mean, I really didn’t - you know, I’m not the one who - with you - I mean, I’m sure you’re lovely, but I just don’t really look at you that way, or _any_ man that way, and -”

But Arthur was no longer listening. He’d spotted the snitch on the other side of the field, glittering by Ivan’s right ankle. 

He shot forward immediately, thoughts of Kohler’s suspicious behavior forgotten, dodging every player who was an obstacle to his target. He even avoided a rather zealous bludger, likely hit by Zwingli when she noticed he’d set his course. None of it mattered - by the time Kohler had sprung into action and the rest of the players had figured out what was going on, Arthur found himself by the Chaser’s Hoops, gripping tightly at a struggling Snitch. 

He landed shortly after Madame Hooch blew her whistle to signal the end of the game, and was almost immediately tackled by the rest of his team. The Slytherin side of the pitch was roaring with approval, and Arthur was lost in a sea of green supporters.

However, through the elbows and hands wrapping around him in earnest, he saw something curious: Beilschmidt was yelling his head off at Kohler, presumably for not catching the snitch. But Kohler did not seem to be paying any attention to his captain. Then, when Jones finally landed on the field, Kohler immediately broke away from Bieldeshmidt’s lecture and ran toward to the American. He began saying something in earnest, pointing at the pitch and miming some sort of broom motion. Then, both he and Jones turned to look at Arthur rather intensely. 

\-------------- 

“Clearly, this means they have it out for me,” Arthur concluded that night, slightly tipsy from drinking Ivan’s stash of firewhiskey (his own had been depleted on a rather uneventful night the week before when Arthur was bored and both Ivan and Francis were indulgent), “You lot were completely off kilter, suggesting I take Jones out. Clearly he and the rest of his stooges can barely stand me!” 

“Yes, you are very surely correct,” Ivan said, rather monotonously for someone conceding defeat, “How could we have even thought otherwise. Have some more firewhiskey before Romano drains it.”

It was around three o’clock, and the Slytherins were still celebrating their Quidditch victory. The Cup looked pretty secure for them; beating both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, they’d only have to defeat Hufflepuff by dozens of points, then they would be declared champions. Arthur was not looking forward to that particular match however - watching Feliciano whine and cry from defeat at Arthur’s hands would be an embarrassing chore.

But he was not focused on that yet. Instead, he took the shot Ivan offered and downed it in one gulp. “They keep looking at me! And Kohler was spying on me when I was at practice! They’re out to sabotage me. Bastards, they probably know I’m going to get scouted and play for the Cannons.”

“You are not going to get scouted,” Ivan said encouragingly. 

“You shouldn’t be focusing on any of that!” Francis said, now out of Quidditch Captain and Prefect mode, and back into ‘Arthur-you-need-to-improve-your-life-it-is-embarrassing-to-be-seen-with-you’ mode. “You’re still struggling in Charms. Quidditch, Slughorn’s party and your insane conspiracy theories can wait - we need to improve your bloody exam scores!”

\--------------

Potion tutoring with Jones had gotten awkward now that Arthur suspected Jones and his fellow Gryffindors had it out for him. Jones must have been better at reading the atmosphere than Arthur had initially thought, for he too was acting rather jittery. This, unsurprisingly, did not do wonders for his potions skills. 

“Jones,” Arthur said one particularly trying night when the pair had been struggling to brew a single potion for three hours straight, “I gave you very clear instructions. You were supposed to grind the Occamy eggshell, to a powder. That’s what helps the texture of the potion. But you went and bloody crushed it, and that’s three hours of work down the drain!”

“I didn’t just crush it!” Jones said defensively, “I ground it! Maybe it’s not as small as it could be, but it was almost -”

“In potions, you cannot _almost_ anything!” Arthur cried, letting his frustration get the better of him, “The whole point of this subject is preciseness! It’s what separates Potion Masters from amateurs! And at the O.W.L. level, you are no longer supposed to be amateur! Professor Slughorn and I have _both_ told you that Felix Felicis in particular requires a great level of concentration - but I can see your mind keeps wandering every time you’re in here! What is so bloody important that you cannot keep your attention on a stupid potion?!”

To Arthur’s surprise, instead of snapping back as usual, Jones remained silent, and looked rather odd. Then, to Arthur’s absolute and utter shock, he said, “Kirkland...I think I’m going to ask Professor Slughorn to assign me another tutor.”

Arthur completely balked. “You’re...what? What?”

Jones seemed uncomfortable, though his strange habit of staring directly into Arthur’s eyes during their conversations did not waver. His gaze bore into Arthur’s, though Arthur stood his ground - he was a good tutor, damn it, and it wasn’t his fault Jones was so air-headed! “I’m sorry,” Jones began, “You’re...great, I mean...it just isn’t working out. I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“And you think I’m the reason for that?” Arthur demanded, “Surely no other person can put up with your absolute absentmindedness better than I can!” 

Jones shrugged. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I just think - no, I know - that I’ll do better if someone else were to train me. I’m sorry.”

“Is this because I beat you in Quidditch?” Arthur said rather nastily, trying to bottle up his rising feelings of inadequacy. If even Jones didn’t trust his expertise any longer… “I didn’t take you for a sore loser, one that can’t even stand to be around me!”

“It’s not that I can’t stand…” Jones started, but quickly clammed up. Now he looked rather...defeated. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur didn’t even dignify Jones’ lame apology with a response. He merely grabbed his bag and whirled out of the dungeon, leaving Jones and his failed Felix Felicis in his wake. He stormed up the stairs, determined not to go back to his dormitory yet, convinced that seeing Ivan with pity in his eyes would not better his mood. 

He should have seen this coming, of course. Jones had plenty of reason to lose confidence in Arthur. It had become common knowledge that Arthur had completely fallen behind in Charms, and was even starting to struggle in Transfiguration. In fact, he wasn’t doing particularly well in any of his classes, with the exception of Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, both which he had a natural affinity for, and therefore did not need to study.

Arthur wiped at his eyes, which had started to water unexpectedly. He shouldn’t be angry with Jones. He would act in the same way - if Arthur wasn’t smart, what business did he have tutoring others? Jones was right not to want a completely stupid air-headed Seer wannabe as an instructor. 

Despite his hands’ best efforts, tears started to pour down Arthur’s cheeks. Feeling like a complete idiot, he put his bag down and summoned a handkerchief, wiping at his face. And now, he was crying like an idiot in public for everyone to see. Perfect.

“Arthur,” a voice interrupted his pity session. Arthur whirled round, careful to keep his handkerchief behind his back in an attempt to preserve his dignity. But he needn't have worried - it was just Francis, likely out on his assigned patrol. 

“Francis,” Arthur said, his voice hitching slightly. He was glad to see his friend actually - he needed a consoling word a lot more than he’d initially thought, “Francis, I’m so glad to see you -”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Francis asked, uncharacteristically sharp. Arthur stopped his approach and stared at the Frenchman uneasily.

“I - I was tutoring Jones. I just needed to take a breather.”

“You know students aren’t allowed out of bed at this time of night,” Francis said coolly, “Surely you don’t expect me to make an exception for you.”

Actually, Arthur did, just like Francis made an exception every single week. Arthur wiped at his eyes one last time, hoping all the vestiges of his tears were gone, and glared sharply at his friend. “Is something the matter that I’m not aware of, _Bonnefoy?_ ” he asked, returning to his first-year habit of calling the taller boy by his last name, “Any reason you’re acting like a harpy before mating season?” 

Francis breathed in so sharply, his nostrils became almost nonexistent, “Detention, Kirkland.”

“ _What?!_ ” Arthur exclaimed, shocked to his core. Jones’ behavior had nothing on _this_. Had everyone collectively decided they would hate him this week? “On what grounds?!” 

“Wandering around the halls after curfew,” Francis replied stiffly, “You should have gone straight to bed after your session with Jones.”

Arthur grabbed Francis’ wrist and ignored the squawk of protest he got in return. “Francis, what is going on?” he said, attempting to keep his temper in check, “Tell me, please.”

Francis still glared at him, though he did not attempt to shake his wrist out of Arthur’s grasp. He was silent for an uncomfortable beat. Arthur felt his wrist twitch in his grasp. Finally, after what seemed like an awkward eternity, Francis shuddered uncomfortably and said,“Antonio and I broke up.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline, and his jaw dropped. “What?”

“Yes. He broke up with me, to be exact,” Francis said, looking away from Arthur’s shocked countenance, “A few hours ago.”

“Bastard,” Arthur said, letting go of Francis’ wrist, “Who would break up with _you_?”

Francis flushed a little at Arthur’s statement, but he shook it off pretty quickly. He faced Arthur again with renewed fervour. “Yes. Indeed. And yet, you said he and I were perfect together, right? That we were destined to be together?” 

“...Oh,” Arthur said, finally realizing why Francis was so upset with him, “Oh, right.”

“Right indeed,” Francis seethed, “I let my guard down for once because I trusted you. I believed you were the best - I thought - finally - that there was someone for me, someone I could -”

Arthur should have been horrified. It really _was_ a big deal. Francis, as beautiful and ethereal as he was at times, had a terrible issue with abandonment. His mother had run away from her family mere weeks after Francis had been born, leaving his father to raise him alone. Shortly after Francis started Hogwarts, his father had perished in an accident involving a cursed teapot he’d encountered in his line of work. Francis had been shipped off to live with his Great Aunt in Britain, who was a rather cold older woman and did not hold Francis in high esteem, despite his slew of accomplishments. As a result, Francis was rather cautious about opening up to anybody - it had been a two-year process to get him to warm up to Ivan and Arthur. Antonio had been the first one Francis had been openly affectionate with. And he’d been dumped. 

However, Arthur was thinking about none of that context. Instead, he was thinking that, in addition to being absolutely incompetent in Potions and Charms, losing the confidence of his professors and even Jones, he was apparently a failure at the one thing that was supposed to come naturally to him. 

“You can’t blame me for not being able to keep him!” Arthur lashed out, finally losing his temper completely, “He was the one for you - it isn’t my fault that you happen to be such an impossible ice queen!” he watched as Francis’ face fell, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re an expert at driving people away Francis. There isn’t a magician in the world who can change that!” Francis’ raw hurt was evident in the lines of his face, and he seemed unable to reply. Arthur merely shoved passed him, stomping back to the Slytherin common room, stewing in anger. He cast a silencing charm as soon as he entered the boy’s dormitory, and huffed all the way to his bed, shoving the curtains closed after he changed. He immediately took a sleeping draught he kept for emergencies, not wanting to think for even a moment about the disastrous night he’d just had. 

\--------------

The next morning Arthur woke up early and left before any of his roommates could stir - he didn’t want Ivan to ask him about anything that happened. It was likely he’d be angry with Arthur too as soon as he spoke with Francis. Which suited him just fine - out of all his siblings, he coped with isolation the best, and wouldn’t mind being lonely and friendless forever. Surely that was preferable to facing Francis again. 

He found he couldn’t even stomach breakfast, and decided his morning was better spent practicing charms that he’d need for the week. He found an abandoned classroom on the third floor, and after convincing a bunch of Hufflepuff first years that he was a prefect and that hanging about in front of a classroom would be grounds for detention, he went inside and locked himself in. 

“Alright,” Arthur muttered to himself, deciding to practice a banishing charm they’d been doing recently, “Let’s bloody do this, Kirkland.”

He spent the first several minutes attempting to clear his mind, knowing that no spell could be performed correctly if the spellcaster was distraught or not able to concentrate. However, after several attempts at forgetting Francis’ pained face from the night before, Arthur gave it up as a bad job. He figured the adrenaline of casting the spell might clear his head somehow, and decided to move on. He gathered several objects he could find around the classroom, including books and rather wild-looking quills, and arranged them on the desks around him. He then attempted to remember the wand motion that was paired with the spell he’d be performing.

“Merlin’s pants, I think it was a jab…” he said, and pointed at the book nearest him. “ _Depulso!_ ”

But instead of adrenaline keeping his mind clear, he was immediately assailed with images of Francis looking vulnerable, of Jones looking disappointed, of Kohler and Zwingli looking shifty. He tried to expel his thoughts, but they seemed to blend together, forcing him to remember all the ways he’d failed this week. The book, which was supposed to shoot away from him, merely inched back hesitantly, as if sensing the spellcaster’s distraction.

“Urgh!!” Arthur moaned, kicking at the nearest chair, “I can’t seem to do a single fucking thing right!”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Arthur whirled around wildly, and found, of all people, Feliciano standing in the doorway, smiling at him serenely.

“I thought I charmed that shut?” Arthur said, trying to disguise his surprise.

“You should always use a stronger charm that can’t be broken with _Alohamora_ , Arthur, you know that,” Feliciano said, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Hm,” Arthur huffed, “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t done anything about you and Ludwig this week. It’s been a sort of trying time. I’ll see if -”

“Actually,” Feliciano interrupted, “We spoke to each other yesterday. And today as well.”

Arthur blinked curiously. “Oh?” 

“Yes, I decided to take some initiative and ask him about an issue I’ve been having in Transfiguration. He’s in my class, he’s very good at it, and he was kind enough to help. We got to talking, and….” here, Feliciano outwardly _grinned_ , “I think I see what you were on about. He’s kind of uncouth, but when you get him talking, he actually likes a lot of things I like! He likes some painters I do, though for some reason he’s more impressed with German Muggle masters than any wizarding ones...but still, it was a fascinating conversation!”

Arthur, who was still surprised something went his way that week after all, nodded carefully. “I’m...erm, glad that it’s working out.”

“So I don’t want to hear you berating yourself ever again, alright?” Feliciano said gently, finally approaching Arthur and stopping in front of the book he failed to charm. “It’s not true. You’re one of the brightest wizards I’ve ever known- certainly one of the best in Hogwarts these past few years. You’re so talented, Arthur, please don’t let Alfred and Francis make you feel insecure.”

Feliciano’s words should have been uplifting and bright, but Arthur felt a familiar sense of suspicion cloud his thoughts instead. “...How do you know about my falling out with Jones and Francis?” he scrunched his eyes with dubiosity, “Have-have _you_ been spying on me?”

“You’re being paranoid,” Feliciano said quickly, though he looked slightly nervous, “Word gets around, Hogwarts is a notorious gossip mill.” Arthur nodded, ceding that this was the truth. He really was becoming quite suspicious and unpleasant - he needed to stop being so on edge. Feliciano however was not fazed. He approached closer still. “Look, I know you’re having some trouble with Charms. If you want, I can help you to catch up a little bit. I got pretty good at the repelling charm when I was a kid - when you have Romano as a brother, you have to learn fast, haha!” 

And Arthur, for once, swallowed his pride and accepted the help he so desperately needed. 

\--------------

Annoyingly enough, for the next week the only thing Hogwarts seemed to be interested in was Slughorn’s party, which, to Arthur’s great disdain, was quickly coming up. Seeing as Francis was still not speaking to him, and Arthur himself was avoiding Ivan (Arthur could be petty when he wanted, and seeing Ivan whispering closely with Francis one morning had been just the thing to bring that particular trait out), there didn’t seem to be much incentive for Arthur to go. Feliciano and Ludwig appeared to speak to each other more often without Arthur’s urging, so he didn’t see a particular need for his presence on that front, either - he assumed Ludwig would invite Feliciano to go any day now. 

So it was with great surprise that he found himself in an odd conversation with Feliciano in Charms, the Italian all but begging Arthur to take him.

“I’m not in the Slug club!” Feliciano was saying while they were walking past the usual grounds. Today they would be practicing an enhanced version of a charm they already knew, which to most student’s delight, was a charm capable of blowing up entire walls. Professor Flitwick was leading them to a site with plenty of ruinous walls just waiting to be blasted. Even Arthur was excited - all his brothers had demonstrated this spell to him at one point or another, and he couldn’t wait until he was able to it himself. He therefore found it rather strange that Feliciano was so fixated on a party. Sure, a party was exciting, but blowing up walls? That was why Arthur loved being a wizard in the first place. “Since I’m not in it, I’d need an invitation from somebody else. Since _you’re_ in it…”

“Beilschmidt is in it too,” he replied rather curtly, “You can ask him. In my opinion you don’t even need to bother actually, he’ll ask you well enough on his own.” 

Feliciano looked shifty for a second before tripping on a rock. “He hasn’t yet,” he huffed, recovering quickly, “And I don’t want to seem desperate by asking. Please, Arthur? You don’t have to stay for very long!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and acquiesced. Feliciano had paid him fifteen Galleons and a Sneakoscope after all. 

“Thanks Arthur!” Feliciano said brightly, and Arthur sent him a reluctant smile back.

“No problem,” he said, “You’re doing me a favor as well, I suppose. I would have needed to go alone, and I was not looking forward to putting on such a pathetic display. You’d have Ludwig, Ivan would have Yao, Francis -” he cut himself off, now fervently avoiding Feliciano’s gaze, “Yes, well. In any case. I’m glad to be of service.” 

Feliciano hummed in approval, then turned to face forward. Arthur hoped they would get to the site soon because this was one charm he definitely could perform. Though Charms was never a strong subject of his, anything his brothers did well he found he could do three-times better. He was sure he’d blast a wall on his first try.

However, Feliciano did not seem content to leave Arthur to his thoughts. “Arthur?” he said inquiringly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

“Uh, I hope you don’t think this is strange -” Arthur already thought it was, but motioned for Feliciano to continue, “-but...I feel like I don’t know anything about you. We’ve hung out for quite a while now, and you already know so much about me…”

“Well,” Arthur said, slightly bewildered, “I needed to know a lot about you for the divination to work, Feliciano. It’s a delicate and intimate art; it doesn’t work if the one trying to See doesn’t put themselves into it wholly.” 

“Well, in any case,” Feliciano pushed on determinedly, “I think we’ve become pretty good friends, and I like to know things about my friends.”

Arthur had heard otherwise from Feliciano’s other friends. The Hufflepuff was kind-hearted and loyal, but he was not the most detail-oriented person in the world. He did not know the last names of many of his friends, let alone details of their lives. He wondered why Feliciano would seek these things out about Arthur of all people, but ultimately decided to indulge him. There didn’t seem to be any harm in it, and Arthur was working very hard to move past this unpleasant funk he’d gotten himself into the past few days. 

“Alright,” he said, “Um, anything in particular you’d like to know?”

Feliciano shrugged. “Anything you feel is important!” Professor Flitwick shouted from the head of the pack that they’d reach their destination in five minutes. Arthur frowned. What was important about him?

“Well,” he began, “I, er, I’m seventeen this year, at the end of April. I’m a Seeker, but you already know that. I...hm, this is rather weird, sorry, I don’t know what to say...I’m the youngest of five brothers. My poor mum, she really wanted a daughter, but I suppose fortune was not in her favor, hah! All my brothers...well, I like to say they’re rubbish, but I suppose they love me. They’ve all become rather successful.”

“My older brother, Alistair, he works at the Ministry - one of the Junior officers under Shacklebolt, you know, we were all really pleased, especially mum. After him, there’s the twins - Sean and Seamus - they’re an annoying set, they work at Gringotts. They’re good at casting curses, bless the heart of any sod trying to break into Gringotts now...then, there’s Dylan. He fucked off to Beauxbatons to teach Transfiguration, met some French bird and now they’re married with a baby. They visit us so bloody often though, it’s like the bugger never left.”

“Wow,” Feliciano said, and surprisingly looked interested in Arthur’s short rendition of his family history, “They all sound great! You sound like you have a solid support system. But...do you ever feel like, it’s hard to live up to all of their accomplishments?” 

Arthur frowned. He actually never felt that way - he and his brothers had always been very diverse, so it was hard to resent each other. He had no cause to be jealous of their careers, because they weren’t what he envisioned for himself.

Not to mention (and he _couldn’t_ mention it, to anyone - not Francis, not his brothers, and certainly not Feliciano at this moment), Arthur had received just that morning a very official looking letter from the Ministry of Magic, delivered by what had to be the biggest most stern-looking owl he’d ever seen in his life. The letter had offered Arthur a career he hadn’t ever really considered, but now desperately wanted - being an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. They presumably courted him because of his Divination abilities; Trelawney cawed high and low about how amazing Arthur was at it, and it seemed the right people had heard. Arthur hadn’t had much time to do anything about the offer however (especially because it wasn’t an official offer, but a notice to let him know they were interested), because he’d been so concentrated on working on Charms with Feliciano and avoiding Francis and Ivan for the rest of his natural-born life. Still, all his thought about his brothers and their careers made him give it some serious thought once again…

“It’s nice to know about your family,” Feliciano said sweetly, “but what about just you?”

Arthur shrugged, “I dunno.” He quickly dispelled any thoughts of the Department of Mysteries - they probably wouldn’t appreciate him thinking about it in a public place where someone could perform Legilimancy, although the idea of Feliciano doing such a thing was laughable, “I enjoy Quidditch - all of my brothers and I played since we were - sorry, going on about them again, aren’t I? Er, I like Divination, which you know, but I also like Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies, I suppose.”

“Why do you like Muggle Studies?” Feliciano immediately asked, almost as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Arthur said, “It’s like a whole other world. We can learn about other wizarding cultures, of course, like the blood magic in Africa and the new elemental-subsection developing in China...but Muggles...they’re just so brilliant, aren’t they? Look what they’ve created - without magic, they’ve got transportation, movies, and I won’t even go into the internet. And all of their science - a lot of it is just an explanation of magic that makes sense with the natural world - something wizards haven’t really concentrated on. Fascinating, right?”

Feliciano nodded slowly, “You know, if you’re really interested in it, I bet there’s a lot of Muggle-borns here at Hogwarts willing to talk with you about it.”

Arthur shook his head, “I’ve spoken with most of them. They seem more keen on their wizarding side, to be honest - say riding a broom is a lot more interesting than discussing the ‘physics’.”

“Well...not Alfred,” Feliciano said, and Arthur blanched, “He’s really into science. The Muggle science, that is. I bet he could explain it to you, if you wanted…?”

“We’re here, everyone!” Flitwick announced, saving Arthur the trouble of proclaiming just where Jones could stick his ‘Muggle science’. 

\---------------

“That’s it. We are having this talk. Now.” Arthur groaned the high, childish voice that interrupted his dressing ritual. He should have seen this coming - Francis had been making all sorts of attempts the past few days at approaching at Arthur, in class, and in the Great Hall, with Ivan watching them both. Arthur very petulantly vacated the premises every time they attempted though, trying very hard not to look at Francis’ face all the while. And now it seemed, he and Ivan had managed to corner Arthur in his own dormitory.

He turned around. “Go away. I’m trying to get ready for tonight.”

But Ivan wouldn’t have it. “You are talking to us, Arthur Kirkland, like an adult and not an insolent child!”

Ivan’s English really was improving at a rapid rate. Arthur would compliment him if he wasn’t thrumming with unease.

“Fine,” he said, “What do you want?”

His friends looked very good for the upcoming party. Ivan had brushed his hair back, perhaps using some of Francis’ hair serum, and wore light-blue robes which showed off his broad shoulders and trim waist. They even fit properly, something Ivan’s school robes seldom did. He was also wearing a thin gold chain around his neck, something Yao had given him last month as a gift, and Arthur found himself feeling grateful that at least Ivan had benefited from his help. 

Francis, meanwhile, somehow managed to look even more beautiful than usual, his wavy blonde hair framing his face and now reaching his shoulders - it was longer than Arthur had ever seen it. It suited Francis, just as everything seemed to suit him. His robes were a neutral grey shade, with added emerald accents that popped, bringing out the aquamarine in his eyes. But as finely as Francis was dressed, his skin and face had seen better days - he looked pale, paler than Arthur even, and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes which he either could not or would not charm off. Arthur couldn’t keep a lock on his emotions anymore - he was flooded with guilt, knowing full well that it was his behavior that had put Francis in such a state. 

“We want to be friends, like we have been for the past five years,” Ivan demanded, “Is there anything you two would like to say to each other?”

They were silent for a full minute. Arthur immediately wanted to apologize - he acted like a child, he was well aware of that. In his defense, it was hard not to when one was the youngest most spoiled brat of an old powerful wizarding family. Still, he was in the wrong, and Francis deserved an apology. He opened his mouth, but still could not make the words come out.

Thankfully, Francis could still be the better person when he wanted to be. “Arthur, I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have taken my break up out on you. You were only trying to help, and I really was happy for a while.”

Arthur shook his head. “Please don’t apologize,” he finally managed to croak out, “I shouldn’t have said those horrible things. And I shouldn’t have just avoided you and Ivan. I - I’m really sorry Francis...forgive me?”

And Francis was in his arms, seemingly trying to hug him hard enough to break his spine. Ivan chuckled gladly, and went to join their embrace. When that happened, Arthur definitely heard a dangerous crack from his back, and hurriedly pushed them away. 

“That’s enough of that,” he said, blushing a bit, but feeling rather pleased.

“Indeed it is,” Francis said, sounding almost like his usually haughty self. To Arthur’s relief, he already looked better. “And just in time - Arthur! Were you going to show up to a gathering looking so frighteningly plain?” 

It was like Antonio had never existed. The three laughed and shot innocuous curses at each other, eating chocolate frogs straight from the wrapping (though Francis made sure they knew that he highly disapproved). They also attempted to tame Arthur’s hair and eyebrows, which went about as well as it usually did.

“You shouldn’t do very much to it, Arthur,” Francis said after a few minutes of struggling, “it suits you. You look very handsome.”

“Oh my god, did you just compliment my appearance?” Arthur said in shock, “Are you cursed?”

Francis smacked him lightly. Then, he and Ivan proceeded to convince Arthur to dress in rather tight robes.

In the end, somehow, they managed. Arthur wore black dress robes that were tailored to fit his body. He was a little self-conscious, but both Ivan and Francis assured him that he looked _very_ good. He shrugged them off in the end - it wasn’t if he had anyone to impress, and tight trousers never hurt a lad in the long run. 

They arrived fashionably late at Francis’ insistence. Feliciano and Arthur had agreed to meet at the entrance, though when they got there, Feliciano was nowhere to be found.

“Have I been stood up?” Arthur wondered aloud, rather affronted. Ivan rolled his eyes, and Francis grasped at Arthur’s elbow.

“Let’s check inside - maybe he got bored of waiting.” 

As it was, Feliciano _was_ inside - and chatting up Ludwig Beilschmidt rather comfortably. Arthur huffed in annoyance. “Well, isn’t that just fucking cake,” he bitched, eyeing the couple with sharp eyes, “He dragged me all the way here to -”

When he’d turned around, he found that both Ivan and Francis had disappeared from his side. He frowned rather severely.

“That is just bloody t -”

“You shouldn’t frown that way, Kirkland.” Arthur wasn’t even fazed at the intrusive comment; it was just like Jones to show up when Arthur was feeling uncomfortable and kind of pissed. “Your face might get stuck.”

“Don’t you have some other tutor you can bother?” Arthur asked snidely, not even turning to face Jones. He flushed at the sound of his laughter, however - velvety, rich, and unfairly pleasant. He imagined the side-smile Jones often shot him when he was in a jovial mood, then smacked himself mentally. Damn Jones, anyway!

“You’re not still angry about that, are you?” Jones asked, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and turning the shorter boy to face him, “It’s really not good to hold onto grudges like that. It’ll ruin your pretty disposition.”

Jones, Arthur bitterly noted, looked absolutely superb that night. He was wearing some sort of muggle suit, which featured trousers that were tight around his hips and arse, something Arthur felt any red-blooded human-being could appreciate. He’d also brushed his sleek blond hair back, and it fell perfectly into place, with the exception of one stubborn cowlick that served to make Jones looks endearing rather than messy. 

He also seemed taller than usual, towering over Arthur in a way he hadn’t previously - Arthur chalked it up to Jones never standing so close to him before - and as he inched ever closer, Arthur noticed that he smelled utterly divine, like sandalwood and citrus, but also like a sharp muggle cologne that Arthur appreciatively sniffed at despite himself. Apparently the American also had bright sparkling blue eyes, something Arthur had never noticed about him before, which was likely a sign they were standing far too close. Arthur stepped back immediately; he hoped Jones had not been checking him out in return (and Merlin that was embarrassing - Arthur also hoped Jones had in no way noticed Arthur had been checking him out in the first place). Arthur’s nose and part of his cheeks were littered with light freckles that he was not particularly fond of. 

“Don’t call my disposition pretty,” Arthur finally said when he realized he’d let the silence drag on for far too long, “If you excuse me, I need to go speak to Feliciano.” He backed away even further, looking for an escape route, but Jones merely followed him. 

“I think Feliciano is quite busy,” he quipped cheerfully, “He took my date for the night as well! Rotten bugger.”

Arthur grinned unabashedly at the uncharacteristic phrase, previous anger at Jones forgotten, and Jones seemed momentarily paralyzed by his smile. 

“I’m glad to see you’re finally picking up on the Queen’s English!” Arthur said, visibly cheerier, “It’s been utter hell listening to you blunder around calling everyone ‘dude’ these past two years.” 

Jones rolled his eyes. He stepped even closer to Arthur, though neither of them were paying much attention to each other’s exact proximity. “You know, of all the British people I’ve met at this school, you are by far the one most likely to be labeled a walking stereotype.” 

“I heard Americans rather like us!” Arthur said, feeling his mood lift, “Maybe not our food, but our accents, surely.” 

Jones looked slightly flushed. Arthur chalked it up to the stuffy nature of Slughorn’s chambers. “A significant amount of Americans do enjoy a good British accent, yes,” he said, “Arthur…”

“Arthur?” Arthur interrupted, bewildered at Jones’ sudden familiarity.

“Yeah. Well,” Jones said, “I’ve always found it strange that you guys use last names. And anyway, we’re friends now, right?”

Well, Arthur would not have said friends. But Jones’ proximity seemed to be clouding his judgement at the moment. When had they gotten so close?! And at some point in their conversation, Jones’ had placed his hand on the small of Arthur’s back and pulled them closer together - Arthur was mostly disturbed to find that he didn’t mind one bit.

“Have you been drinking?” Arthur asked suspiciously. He himself was a pretty abstinent bloke, but everyone knew Jones could get around when he wanted to (the bigger surprise would have been if he didn’t - looking like the American version of Adonis certainly gave one privileges). Arthur didn’t particularly fancy being pulled in a fleeting moment of fancy for Jones.

But the American surprised him. “I heard you’ve been rather paranoid about people on spying on you lately,” he said, and Arthur furrowed his eyebrows immediately. How did Jones know about _that_? “You have good intuition, Arthur - man, I really like saying your name - but it wasn’t spying, really. And it wasn’t Mathias and Feliciano doing it.”

“What are you on about?” Arthur said.

Jones looked bright red now, though it did nothing to detract from his looks. Bastard. “You’re very closed off, did you know that? You’ve been tutoring me all term, and the only personal things I got to know about you were that you like Muggle Studies, and you apparently think you’re some sort of Yente-like matchmaker.”

Arthur cocked his head to one side, “We weren’t there to gossip, Jones, getting a D on your O.W.L would certainly put an end to any ambition you may have in wizarding Britain.” 

“Yeah, but I bet you can think of some non-class related stuff about _me_. Try.”

Arthur did, and he found that he actually could remember quite a few personal details beyond Jones’ struggles in potions. His blood-status, his familial situation with his twin brother, quite a few entertaining stories from his time in Salem…

“Alright, you’re correct,” Arthur said, “But why does it matter? My life isn’t anything interesting.”

“That’s not true! Your family for instance sounds like a handful; if my brother worked at Gringotts -”

“Feliciano told you that?” Arthur interrupted, getting more bewildered by the second. Not enough to break away from Jones’ firm hold on his waist, but regardless… “You _have_ been drinking, haven’t you…”

He mainly meant it as a jest, but when Jones did not deny it, he got huffy all over again. “Cheeky!” 

Jones smiled, a little nervously. “I needed some liquid courage, I felt, to have this conversation with you.” Before Arthur could ask him to elaborate, he continued, “I’ve been the one...spying on you, I guess, but I don’t like that word.” Arthur blanched. “I’ve just been kind of...looking at you? I promise, it’s not as creepy as it sounds.”

“You’d better get me a drink if you want me to agree with you,” Arthur said, and was rather pleased when Jones reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a metallic flask, “Alright, I suppose I forgive you for being a creep. Gimme.” 

Jones smiled fondly at the shorter boy, and passed along his alcohol. “Who knew you were so easily bought?” 

After taking a rather ambition gulp, Arthur gave into an impulse he’d been having all night and leaned into Jones’ hold of him, pressing his side into Jones’ hard chest. He found he liked how the two of them fit together. Then something occurred to him. 

“When Feliciano asked all those personal questions the other day…”

“Yeah, they were at my behest,” Jones said, but he sounded rather dazed. He was wrapping his arm tighter around Arthur’s waist. 

“Look at you! Behest! We’ll turn you into a proper Brit yet, Jones!” Arthur said. 

“Alfred,” Jones replied. Arthur looked up at the taller boy, now slightly dazed himself. He took another swig from the flask. “Call me Alfred, okay?” 

Arthur hummed, pretending he was mulling it over. Then he turned around and leaned back into Jones’s embrace, pressing his back into Jones’s chest and his arse into the American’s lap. Jones’s responding gasp finally gave Arthur some idea of what the younger Gryffindor may have been trying to get at these past few minutes.

“Alfred,” Arthur said slowly, allowing the syllables to roll off his tongue with relish. He was also pleased when Jones immediately pawed at his hips, gripping at them to hold Arthur in place. Music had begun playing some minutes ago, and thankfully no one was paying attention to their somewhat inappropriate display. Arthur indulged himself and pressed his body even closer to Jones’ appreciating the American’s groan. “Alfred...I suppose I can do that. For your sake, of course.”

“Of course,” Jones said, but his voice was low and rough, nothing like Arthur had ever heard before. His hands slid to Arthur’s front, and Arthur found himself being whirled around unexpectedly until he was face to face with the American once more. Jones looked far more disheveled now, his eyes slightly wild, and he was very nearly _panting_.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you this close to me,” Jones said in the same voice, and Arthur felt his whole body flushing with glee. It was like the pleasant feeling he’d gotten while tutoring Jones every time they’d accidentally touched, but far more intense. And to think, he’d had absolutely no idea that Jone- that _Alfred_ felt this way...  
“How did I miss this?” Arthur wondered out loud. Alfred chuckled, bemused. He’d wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist again, and Arthur found himself clutching Alfred’s biceps almost desperately. He’d really need to do something after tonight to keep his masculinity in check. 

“I’ve been told you’re very good at this when it comes to other people,” Alfred said, “And yet you didn’t give me the time of day. I was very close to losing my confidence, you know.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well we certainly can’t have that.” 

Alfred stared at him. “No we can’t,” he agreed. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against Arthur’s.

Arthur had experience with snogging if nothing else, so he immediately opened his mouth and allowed Alfred to deepen their kiss. Arthur felt flushed and delighted, loving the way Alfred tasted and felt against him, and tried very hard to mind the American’s glasses, which were digging into his right cheek. It didn’t matter much however, because Alfred’s hands dragged down the length of Arthur’s body, beginning to toy with the edge of his belt…

“ _Sacre bleu_ , Arthur, what are you doing?!” an exaggerated French voice interrupted, and Arthur found that every single eye in the chamber was on him.

Blast Francis, anyway. 

\--------------

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Arthur was saying the next day, trying to stuff another book into his already bulging bag, “They don’t bite.”

“Are you sure about that?” his boyfriend said, and Arthur once again felt a rush of satisfaction at the thought of calling Jone- _Alfred_ by that title, “When we left last night, Braginsky gave me look that could kill a thestral.” 

Arthur smiled a little. “You’re being dramatic,” he said, finally succeeding in jamming his book into the proper place. He then glanced back up to Alfred, who was still staring at Arthur with the same dazed look he’d been giving Arthur all morning. “Will you stop looking at me like that? I feel like there’s something wrong with my face.”

“You’re beautiful,” Alfred blurted, then immediately pinked. Arthur was so pleased with him he grasped Alfred’s hand with both of his own. 

“Don’t worry about Ivan. Or Francis, for that matter. They’re both tossers, but they love me, and they’ll love you too.” 

“I feel like I’m meeting your parents,” Alfred muttered darkly. Arthur laughed at his antics.

“Don’t worry, that’ll come soon enough. You can meet them and all my brothers. I have four of them - older ones, you know!” And at Alfred’s panicked face, Arthur could only laugh harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT THAT WAS WAY TOO FUCKING LONG NEVER AGAIN.
> 
> Couple of things that I was going to address but never got the chance:
> 
> -Lilli Zwingli does in indeed have a super crush on Alfred, and it was obvious to her he liked Arthur, so Arthur became enemy #1
> 
> -Alfred is much better at Quidditch than Arthur is, but he goes easy on him because Arthur is cute and charming and Alfred is a teenage boy who fell hard ok?
> 
> -Alfred started liking Arthur about one week after they met, and realized it pretty quickly
> 
> -The whole Gryffindor house knew about Alfred's crush on Arthur. It was often a topic of conversation. 
> 
> -Alfred's twin is indeed Matthew, but he didn't have any magic
> 
> Sorry again it took so long to update this (especially since I promised it wouldn't lol). I had a lot of problems with pacing and stuff - I thought I was doing well, but when I reread it, it seemed I was rushing everything. Yikes. Oh well, it's fanfiction not a Tolstoy novel, so I should be okay. Thank you all for supporting me and giving me feedback - it means a lot! :D


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